The Full Story: Final Part

Final and most important part.

I lost track of what I originally started writing this series for. Nearly impossible to stay on track when I’m so focused on just simply remembering all the details I can. This 6-part series definitely turned into something solely meant for my blog audience. Oh well, at least I’ll have plenty written for notes for when I do come back to the original purpose of writing all of this.

Everything I have described in parts 1-5 have been based on what I remember. I don’t claim to have perfect memory, but I do claim to have reliable memory. I’m sure what I’m about to say will go ignored by certain parties, but whenever I wrote something in the previous parts for which my memory was fuzzy, I stated as such. It cannot be claimed that I am 100% certain of everything I talked about in previous parts. I said “I think” and “If I remember correctly” and things like that.

For the sake of argument, let’s be ultra-cynical and conjecture that I am 100% wrong, for any reason (like deception or stupidity), about everything I’ve said in parts 1-5: The fact still remains that I know my own heart. I know my heart better than Brooke could ever possibly know, or any guy she’s fucking, or any of her friends, or anyone she’s related to. And I knew my intentions and desires and wishes and goals, every minute of every day Brooke and I were together.

I loved my wife. I loved her more than anyone I’d ever known before. The only soul I’ve ever loved more than Brooke is the beautiful baby girl we created together. No matter how many people Brooke brainwashes with her victim complex, it will never change the fact that I loved my wife and I was fully devoted to her. You can say I failed as a husband, but you cannot say my heart was in the wrong place.

When I was a child, everyone loved me, and I loved everyone. Ask anyone who knew me as a child, and they will tell you about how altruistic I was, how generous I was, and how loving and affectionate I was. This was true even toward people I secretly didn’t like deep down. My siblings all agreed that I was our mother’s favorite child, and we think it’s most likely for the sole reason that I was the easiest child of hers to care for.

I have always loved people, I have always wanted what is best for the world. I am not selfish, I am not weak, I am not a liar, I am not a manipulator. I have always had a big heart. Too big, I would say.

Many people say that I changed when I grew up. I’ve heard people say countless times that the difference between who I was, and who I am now, is night-and-day. Well, I strongly disagree. I didn’t change, I only became more aware. I still care about the world, and about people individually, but growing up forced me to compartmentalize how much I care about different people. The world stayed the same, and as I grew up, it forced me to adapt.

And I most certainly adapted, but the person I’ve always been deep down has never changed.

Having a big heart doesn’t ever go away. In fact, I’ll make the claim that nobody ever truly changes who they are underneath. Who we are as children is who we are underneath as adults. I am an adult now, and who I am underneath is exactly who I was as a child, just like everyone else.

I come from a family of strong-willed, but short-tempered loudmouths. The fact I was born so quiet and thoughtful is an anomaly among my immediate blood-relatives. I’ve always been the black sheep. And as the black sheep, it is not coincidence or happenstance that I ended up nothing like any of my siblings. The worst of my siblings has been in and out of prison since he was a teenager, and he was first accused of something heinous when he was just 11, and that was before we all started going in and out of foster homes. I have no such history remotely resembling my worst relatives. Never even close. And as easy as it is for anyone, anywhere, to make accusations about anything, against anyone, I have never been accused of anything heinous … until my ex-wife decided to give it a try.

Most of my friends growing up were girls. And no accusations or charges. I’ve been in sexual relationships since I was a teenager. And no accusations or charges. (When Lisa left me, she outright stated that I did nothing wrong.) Even with my most tumultuous relationship, which was with the woman who was 16 years older than me, that one still did not end with the state getting involved in any way. Even with her, we simply went our separate ways and that’s it.

Brooke was special, but she wasn’t so special that she made me suddenly transform into something I’m not.

What is my history? Feeling I’m behind everyone in everything, feeling worthless and unloved, feeling overwhelmed, feeling hopeless, feeling like the worst will always happen to me… That is my history. Just because I became damn-good at hiding these things doesn’t mean they ever went away, especially during my marriage. Only one thing, in all my life, has brought me pleasure and happiness: Being there for others. Despite the numerous emotional troubles that have always weighed me down, the reason I was such a happy child is because I was ignorant enough to be optimistic, and ignorant enough to believe all people are more good than malicious.

The only time I enjoy a game is when I’m playing that game with someone else who is enjoying it. The only time I enjoy sex is when she is enjoying it. The only time I enjoy conversations is when the person I’m talking to is enjoying it as well. Pretty much the only things I enjoy doing alone is watching movies and writing books.

Brooke has made it obvious that she never trusted me or even loved me. She never even bothered to ask me questions, in the hope that she was wrong about something. Not once. Just like with Dylan, when she was done with me, I was completely dead to her.

Brooke did not live in a hostile environment when she was with me. That would have been strange, to say the least, since we were living with her own relatives for the entire second half of our marriage and they would not have tolerated shitty behavior from me like that. The evidence undoubtedly proves, and I remember clearly, that Brooke drove our marriage off a cliff, and she drove off that cliff at full speed to make sure it didn’t survive.

When Brooke left me, for the first short while, I was the only one who was kind and gentle and tried to keep things from getting worse. Hell, I was already doing that before she took off. The evidence is on my side with this. As soon as Brooke left me, she was nothing but belligerent, demanding, and stubborn. Read the following text exchange between us that took place in November 2018, the very same month that Brooke left me…

Brooke: I wanted to think about what day would work. You need to stop fucking throwing a fit when you dont get what you fucking want. Stop fucking baggering me when i dont fucking respond immediately. I was thinking about coming over friday but i really dont want to see your face or talk to you at the moment. I would be a lot less fucking pissed off if hadnt have been badgered all fucking morning.

Me: After my first text, I waited no problem for you to say something. No problem. I expected you not to respond for many hours like usual.

After you hung up on me, I only called back to kindly, gently ask why you were upset. To talk it out. Like civilized people do. Re-listen to the voicemail I left. I was calm and patient. I expected to leave a voicemail anyway. I wanted you to know I was prepared to listen.

Then you claimed it was because your dad was there. Assuming you were telling the truth and the FULL truth, I said I have until noon to talk. I assumed you were willing to talk since you said you hung up because your dad came. You said nothing else. So, because you gave no indication whatsoever that you cared to talk about this, I sent a little reminder that we should talk. A reminder for you to read when you get the chance or feel like it.

How is that badgering? Or is anything and everything I do wrong simply because you declare it so?

As this small bit of evidence clearly shows: I was the calm one who did not resort to, for example, dropping f-bombs for no reason, or saying things like, “I don’t want to see your face!” That was all Brooke, at the beginning. I certainly changed my tune after I’d had enough, but at the beginning, I was calm and kind, and Brooke did nothing but spew venom. She had no intention of working things out, no desire to discuss anything, no desire to work together as parents. We went to marriage counseling, but we only did after her family ordered her to go, and while we were there, she insisted we only talk about problems we already resolved, like a child who refuses to grow up.

And that never changed.

I loved my wife. I loved her more than I thought I could love anyone. Now, I don’t even see Brooke as human. She is now a soulless parasite in my eyes.

When we first separated (as in for the first 6 months at least), despite all of Brooke’s demanding, yelling, and outright refusal to discuss anything, she never accused me of abuse. It eventually became clear that our divorce would go all the way to court, once I made it obvious I would fight, fight, fight to stay in my daughter’s life. While I was talking to my lawyer one day, he presents me with a document a few pages long, written by Brooke’s lawyer, and at the end of this legal statement, Brooke and her lawyer stated that no abuse took place. They signed that document.

That document was made shortly before our trial. But despite the fact it said no abuse took place, once our case got to court, Brooke started going off about how I was an abusive husband. And of course, she never faced legal consequences for perjuring herself against her own signed document…

I wrote parts 1-5 to thoroughly demonstrate one simple truth: I did my best during our marriage. I loved my wife, and I had the best intentions for my wife. The worst of my actions during my marriage stemmed from fear, a lack of self-confidence, feeling overwhelmed, and just plain not knowing what to do most of the time. And the worst of my actions were still not even that bad. I never (literally never) struck Brooke, I never raised my voice at her, I never threatened her, I never limited her freedom. The only time I made an actual rule for her was (as stated in part 4), when she was pregnant and I didn’t want her eating ramen noodles because of what they’re made from, and even then, if Brooke refused to respect my wish, I wouldn’t have done anything about it.

As time has gone by, Brooke doesn’t screech at me quite as much anymore, but she has still gotten worse, in other ways. Her accusations, and her actions, have both gotten worse. When I thought she had the dignity and decency to refrain from playing victim, she started playing victim. Just when I thought she had enough of a soul not to try to take my child from me, she tried to take my child from me. Just when I thought she had at least a fragment of a soul not to do something extreme like … trying to get me arrested over nothing, well, she tried that too.

She tried to ruin my life. Whether it worked or not, the fact that she even tried demonstrates what a soulless creature she is. She tried to ruin the life of someone who never struck her, never destroyed her belongings, never insulted her (while we were married), never called her worthless or things like that … AND, probably most importantly, has never done any of those things to our child, either.

When she claims that I was controlling, I can’t help but wonder: To what end? When people are controlling, it is to get a certain result. By ‘controlling,’ is she claiming I was intrusive or demanding when it came to sex? She almost never said no to sex, and the two (literally just two) times she did, I didn’t complain or pressure her otherwise. The only times she gave me a blowjob was when she offered. (I never ask for those, in any relationship, because it would feel hypocritical, since I’d never want a dick down my throat). So, what other end goal could I have had in controlling Brooke? Not getting her to cheat on me? Okay, by doing what, exactly? Never letting her leave the house by sealing the door shut? Keeping her gas tank empty? Not letting her have her own phone? Ordering her to never visit her relatives or friends?

None of those things happened, not once.

Or maybe the argument is that I was using her to make a child? This is by far the most asinine accusation I’ve heard. Brooke was very open about her disinterest in being a parent. She wasn’t against it, but she was certainly disinterested. If I was just using her to make a baby, I would have fucked her over and over (which I did) and then once she gave birth, I would have tried to take our child and ditch (which I did not do). Remember I described in an earlier post how Brooke told me she was going to give up our child to me if we had split up before she gave birth? That would have been the best time, the absolute best time, to kick her out of my life if I was just using her to make a child. Brooke outright told me I would have the child all to myself if things fall apart before she gives birth. But I didn’t do that. I did the opposite: I tried to keep Brooke around. At the very least, if the truth even remotely resembled this accusation, I would have married her with a prenuptial agreement guaranteeing our child would solely be mine. I did marry Brooke, but there was no prenup, at all. So, these are all the obvious reasons it’s beyond retarded to claim I was using Brooke for her womb.

I wanted a family, and I wanted to make that family with Brooke. Period.

(Also don’t forget I had a greater preference for adoption.)

Let’s further discuss the “controlling” accusation, because I want to bury this nonsense once and for all. When Brooke came home from work 4 hours late, I would ask why it took so long. I never phrased my question as, “Were you REALLY at work?” or something like that. When her great-grandpa died, she said she was going to visit him to say goodbye (without inviting me to also say goodbye, which I resented), and even though she said she’d be gone for one hour, she was gone for closer to 5 or 6 hours, and part of me thought she went somewhere else before visiting her great-grandpa. Things like that stem from paranoia. It is not controlling to ask questions or to doubt. The most, the absolute most, that I would ever do is ask Brooke why it took so long to get home, nothing more, nothing additional. If she worried I’d overreact, she never showed it, but if she felt that way deep down, there was nothing I could do about it, because nobody has any say in how someone else feels about anything.

Around the beginning of our relationship, while we were still just dating, there were 2 times that Brooke was supposed to get off work at 10, where she had stayed until around 1am, and I went to go see myself whether she really was at work or not. Not okay; I know and acknowledge that. The reason I did this? She was a hostess, so I naturally wondered why she’d stay an extra 3 hours when guests stopped coming in at 10. This was after she went behind my back to see Dylan. Again, I acknowledge that was not okay to do, but 2 things can be true at the same time: I should not have gone to see where she really was, AND that is still not an example of being controlling.

After the second time I did this, I realized it wasn’t mature, or ethical, and I never did it again. Brooke never told me it bothered her. She never brought it up. And I still realized, on my own, that it was wrong, and I stopped.

Lastly, for the idiots who want to believe I was controlling and I was just using Brooke… I think nothing proves that belief to be nonsense more than the thing Brooke loved to do most: Photography. When I was still getting to know Brooke (as described in part 1), I was both pursuing her and trying to encourage her to do what she loved most. I encouraged her to practice it more, and to even do it for a living through the business I wanted to start with her. When we were still just dating, I invited her to take some scenic pictures at the second place we all went to for swimming. I wanted her to take some pictures at the coast as well. When we started dating, that’s when I started encouraging her to get into photography as a potential way to make a living.

Speaking of that business I wanted to start with Brooke… One of the things that made me think Brooke and I were a perfect match (and that it wasn’t just feelings that brought us together) was the fact we both loved art. I love writing books, and I was trying to get into photography, while Brooke was already into photography and illustrations. She illustrated the back cover of my second novel, Resurrection.

I’m not going to talk about how Brooke almost completely flaked on the business and preferred to just sit around home watching reruns of the same shows. That doesn’t matter nearly as much as the plain, simple fact that I worked hard to make a financially-secure future with Brooke. That is NOT the behavior of a man who’s just using an “innocent, naïve young girl who doesn’t know any better” for her womb and for sex. The sex was awful anyway, you’ll recall. If sex was of any level of importance to me, I would have kept several phone numbers for booty calls and cheat on Brooke repeatedly.

Did I mention Brooke never worried about me cheating on her? Not even a little. In fact, during one of our arguments (about what she did behind my back), Brooke said, “Michael, I KNOW you would never cheat on me.” So, add cheating to the list of things I never did in my marriage.

Okay, enough buildup. Time to get to the crux of this whole story…

Monsters deserve to lose their child. Monsters deserve to get the police called on them and the state used against them.

I did not lose my child, I did not end up behind bars. You know why? Because I’m not a monster. Everyone sees this, even the people who pretend to believe Brooke’s bullshit. In fact, our daughter’s third birthday is not far from now, and after she turns 3, I get to have her with me for 4 days out of every week. Courts do not grant that kind of arrangement for a parent, especially a father, when they have a history of being dangerous, or careless, or disinterested.

Every minute we’ve spent in court was a waste of time and money. Every minute I’ve had to spend trying to get Brooke to tell me something I need to know as a father, or trying to tell her something she ought to already understand as a mother, has been a waste of time.

Want to know the reason our marriage fell apart? Want to know the reason it never had a chance of being saved? Because Brooke never gave a shit.

She never trusted me, she never loved me, she never truly knew me. You know the number-one thing people do when they care and they want to understand? They ask questions. They ask questions. They ask questions.

They ask why. They ask how. They ask to know more. They ask what’s going on in your mind.

Brooke never asked me questions, and she never asked me questions because she never gave a shit. She intentionally allowed all the bad stuff, both real and perceived, to just build up and build up until she had an opportunity to take off and take from me.

Yes, take off. The very thing I would have done if I was any of the things she accuses me of being. She was the one who took off, she is the one who uses people, and she is the one who tries to control people, including but not limited to me. When she took off, she became demanding, in order to control me. She accuses me of not listening, when she is the one who refuses to ever listen. She accuses me of being controlling, when she is the only one of us who has gone to the state capital, multiple times, to have the government do her bidding.

Weak people like Brooke are always, without fail, the EXACT things they are so terrified of.

They see threats where none exist, and they became threats themselves. They fear being destroyed, and so they try to destroy the threat first.

I don’t know if Brooke ever truly feared for her safety toward me, but what I do know is that she tried to destroy me in the only way she could: By manipulating others to cause the destruction for her, like the government. If she were born a man, she would have tried to destroy me herself, physically. The ONLY thing that stopped her was the mere fact she couldn’t have.

I am a lot stronger than she is, and I never struck her, before, during, or after our marriage, and I never will. I am a lot smarter than she is, and I never went to the government to ruin her life for me, nor will I ever. Brooke has no idea, absolutely no fucking idea, the things I could have done if I had wanted to. Things that never took place, and never will take place. If I had wanted to do any of the things she tried to do, I would have been a lot better at it, and those things would have already happened by now. When she left our child in a zipped-up tent on a 100-degree day, or when she just, in general, proves over and over how incapable she is of surviving completely on her own, or the stories she told me about her abusive stepfather… I could have made Brooke, and her stepfamily, look godawful if I really, really wanted to take things to the extreme like she tried to. If I wanted to ruin Brooke’s life, or actually harm her, the past 2 years would have looked very, very different.

But all I did was stand my ground (and bitch on my blog about what a shitty person she is). That’s all I did. The mere fact that I never did anything else proves that I have immensely-better character than she has.

What makes me better than her is the fact that THIS ENTIRE TIME, the only thing I have done is stand back and defend myself while she is endlessly on the attack. The most, the absolute most, that I have ever done is criticize her. The latest example of criticism she deserves: I noticed she never checks up whenever our daughter is with me and she has the flu, or a fever, or anything else. But nonetheless, all I have ever done apart from standing my ground is criticize her. I don’t take actual measures, ever. All I do is speak my mind about the kind of person she is.

I don’t think Brooke even knows what love is. I think all she understands is using people. Using people to survive, using people to feel better, using people to give her attention, using people for their money, etc. When Dylan was no longer useful, she ditched him like it was nothing. When I was no longer useful, she ditched me like it was nothing. Maybe that’s the true reason never worried about me cheating: She probably wouldn’t have given a shit if I had.

You know how I know for a fact that I loved Brooke and wasn’t just using her? Because part of me still loves her, and always will. Despite all the shit I’ve described in this series, and on this blog, there will always be that small part of me that just can’t help but love her forever. Even when she doesn’t deserve it in the slightest, she still has a little bit of my eternal love.

Brooke stopped loving me as soon as she left me, and most likely even long before that. On November 7, just two days after she left me, at 5:51pm I texted her “I love you” and she never responded. The next morning, at 11:53am, I asked her, “Do you prefer I stop saying that completely?” To which she replied, “I would, because i cant say it back.”

Someone who truly loves does not lose it so quickly, and they never lose it completely. There was no struggle; she just stopped.

In my strongly-held opinion based on endless observation, Brooke is incapable of truly loving anyone. She cannot sacrifice for love, she cannot do what is best for someone even if it means she does not benefit. She does not love, she only uses. When the guy she’s currently fucking is no longer useful, she will do the same to him. Chances are good that his usefulness is primarily (though not quite fully) dependent on how much he tells her things she wants to hear. Once he stops simping for her, he will no longer be useful in her eyes.

Which brings me to my conclusion here…


Brooke will never improve. She will never be a real woman anyone can look up to and say, “I wish I was more like her!”

Brooke can never – I repeat never – be with any man who is actually a real man. She can never be with a man who helps her grow as a person, or who is a true partner to her that works together with her in all things mutually. The only thing, the absolute only thing, Brooke can handle is being babied. She is a child who is raising a child. Anything anyone does that is not some form of babying, damages her. And frankly, I don’t know if this is her fault or not. All I’m certain of is that it’s true.

When Brooke was a child, sometime before she turned 10, she had a near-drowning experience. I don’t remember the exact details, but I’m very certain she didn’t experience some kind of attempted murder or something. All I remember she told me was that she nearly drowned one day as a child, or she thought she nearly drowned. And ever since that day, she cannot mentally handle water touching her face. Not a gentle splash in the shower … nothing.

When Brooke and I took showers together, I could not help but notice every single time how she made damn sure the water never splashed on her face, or even trickled down her face. Sometimes, as an innocent joke, I’d put my own face directly in the shower water, and even that bothered her. She didn’t freak out, but she did comment something like, “I don’t know how you can do that!” Yes, it disturbed her just seeing someone else’s face covered with water.

In hindsight, Brooke’s water problem shows me something monumental. It proves that she never heals, not even a little bit.

And before you say, “Well, Michael, how about YOU try almost-drowning at an early age!” Well, guess what? That did happen to me.

This incident was the first time I ever pondered the subject of death and mortality. I was 5, maybe 6 years old, and living at my first foster home. I went swimming one day with two of my foster-brothers named Matthew and Andrew. While Andrew was out walking around the front yard where we were, Matthew and I were in the pool. At one point, I decided to dive under the water, because that’s just what I do, and Matthew thought it’d be a good joke to float above me and keep me stuck under him. Whenever I swam over to resurface, he followed. I remember even trying to push Matthew away, and when I really started losing air, I started hitting him. He still didn’t move. By that point, I lost so much air that I actually wasn’t panicking so much anymore. I started feeling peaceful. But, right before the point where my reflexes kicked in and forced me to swallow a bunch of water as a total last resort to take in air, I tried kicking the bottom one more time, and this time, Matthew was finally not hovering over me. I was livid beyond belief, as expected, and I made damn sure our foster mom knew about this. But you know what didn’t happen after that incident? Fearing water for the rest of my life. In fact, I didn’t fear water for literally any length of time after that incident. If I remember correctly, I went back into that same pool shortly after this happened (once I made sure Matthew got in trouble). Nor did I ever become too afraid to dive under, or even dive near other people again.

I know that not everybody is the same. I’m sure it would have been normal for me to fear being underwater for a long time; years, even. But to be so terrified of water, for the rest of my life, that I can’t even let water touch my face in the shower when I’m in my 20s?? That is not normal. It just isn’t. And remember, I say this as someone who experienced someone actively trying to keep him trapped underwater as a child.

By any reasonable metric, I was not a horrible husband. I made mistakes, and I’ve owned up to all of them. I made mistakes I didn’t even cover in this 6-part series, but only because they weren’t as severe as the ones I did mention here, and they aren’t very important to mention. Yet, despite the fact that I was simply an imperfect husband with some maturity issues, Brooke took my mistakes and my immaturity SO severely that she interpreted all of it, literally all of it, as abuse. Once someone put the idea of calling herself a victim into her head, she ran with it.

Someone who is that fragile, someone who is so easily scarred, someone who cannot heal from the slightest bad experience, someone who colossally-exaggerates every bad experience … that is someone who can never grow. That is why she can’t, physically cannot, be with any guy who is actually a good partner. She can only be with guys who put themselves beneath her, worship her, and only tell her exactly what she wants to hear.

I assume a lot of people who’ve read up to this point are probably thinking, “Well, if you know she’s just really, really sensitive, then shouldn’t that make you pity her instead of hating her?” To which my answer is: Not after what she’s done.

Just because Brooke tried to ruin my life through the government instead of beating me to a pulp, that doesn’t make her any less of a piece of shit. In fact, I would have GREATLY preferred if she beat me to a pulp instead of putting me through years of fear of losing my child, and years of being forced to give her money for absolutely nothing. She knows my responsibilities as a father would increase if we had joint custody, but she manipulated her way into getting sole custody (her only victory in all this) because it gives her money AND power. Hefty tax refunds, free money every month, and the power to make decisions for our child whether I approve or not… That’s what it’s about. It has nothing to do with doing what’s right. Money and power. The things weak people crave the most. She doesn’t respect my wishes with anything. She doesn’t give a shit.

People can be weak and still be a good person. I used to be friends with one such type, and his name was Sam. A very weak person, even more fragile than any of my female friends growing up, but Sam never did anything shitty, toward anyone. Sam was like Piglet (from Winnie the Pooh), in that he was very weak but he remained a good person. He still had a good heart. So, that’s why I don’t care if Brooke can’t help how sensitive she is: Character supersedes a person’s inner strength, always. Sam is a weak person, Brooke is a weak person, but Sam is a great person, Brooke is a shitty person.

I will never be able to count on Brooke to apologize for anything, or simply admit when she does something wrong. She started our relationship being humble (or maybe it was fake), but that quickly changed. Just like how she cried and apologized about going behind my back with Dylan, but then completely reversed her position the very next time I asked her about it again.

Our problems as a couple built up because Brooke was literally against communication. It’s not just that she didn’t know how to communicate, she outright told me she was against it. And that still hasn’t changed in the 2 years we’ve been separately raising our daughter.

I think all the things that made me fall in love with Brooke were just an act. She did what she needed to keep me around, for as long as she wanted me around, but it all flew out the window once she no longer needed me.

She is willing to give our daughter a broken family, going back and forth between parents, just like she went through. She tried to rob her daughter of her father; a father who has no criminal history, or history with drugs, or alcohol, or even goddamn cigarettes. Brooke is willing to do whatever the hell she wants, whenever the hell she wants, simply because she wants to do it. She can’t even refrain from attempting shitty things even for the sake of her daughter’s healthy development. She’d rather be hostile. She’d rather win, at any cost.

By no means do I believe she’s done trying to win. She’ll never stop. I’d bet she’ll look for some way to use this 6-part series against me. Just wait.

When Brooke threw Dylan away like a cold bitch, he asked me (through her) if I would talk to him. When Brooke went to work, he called me, and all he wanted to know was… “Why did Brooke leave me like that? We were together for 4 years…” And the only thing I could tell him was, “…I honestly don’t know. I’m disturbed by it, too.”

Well, now I do know how she could do that. (And then go see him again behind my back.)

Last thing I will say:

If I’m wrong about anything I believe and perceive, if I am shown to be, I will happily own up to my misperception. As certain as I am that I understand things just fine, most of this stuff I don’t want to believe. But as life shows me over and over, expecting the worst is the best way to predict the future.